


Homebrew

by leiascully



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Drinking, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:30:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old Woman Josie makes a wicked jug of moonshine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homebrew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearwaldorf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/gifts).



> Timeline: post-"One Year Later"  
> A/N: For pearwaldorf. Thanks to wikihow for confirming you can use cornmeal to brew moonshine.  
> Disclaimer: _Welcome to Night Vale_ and all related characters are the property of Joseph Fink, Jeffrey Cranor, and Commonplace Books. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

Old Woman Josie doesn’t spread the word around much, but she makes a wicked jug of moonshine. There’s a reason she lives out by the car lot - the salesmen use enough cologne to cover up the telltale scent of sour mash. She’s been brewing for years. She used to use regular corn meal, but ever since John Peters (you know, the farmer?) started up with his invisible corn, she just couldn’t resist. He’s never noticed a few dozen ears gone here and there, silly man, and it’s really improved the quality of her whiskey. She gives a jug to Cecil every year a week before Valentine’s Day - she knows the horrors he has to report. Cecil always thanks her very nicely and returns the jug.

The angels can’t get enough, so it’s good that they only drink it a shot at a time. Josie isn’t honestly sure how they get it down, given that they don’t have mouths to speak of, but the liquid in the little glasses goes down bit by bit and the angels start giggling and blurring at the edges and the whole house smells of nutmeg. They always stop before they get completely out of focus, but the little end table is still putting out roots and branches and the sink is always sparkling clean - at least they’ve kept to minor miracles.

It’s a year and more before Josie offers Carlos any of her homebrew. He’s come by to ask her questions for about the thirtieth time, like she’s suddenly going to tell him the secret of Night Vale (she could, but she won’t), and in the middle of his questions, he starts coughing. Josie fixes him a hot toddy with plenty of honey and lemon and watches him while he drinks it. It takes a few minutes before he gets it all down, but at least the coughing stops. Josie knows that cough too well. Carlos isn’t a native Night Valeian. There will always be things he’s not prepared for. But she’s decided he can stay - after all, he was brave enough to walk into the town square of the miniature city under the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, and Cecil loves him. That’s good enough for Josie. The town can always use a perfect scientist (and Carlos is still perfect, still gracious, still lightly scented with lavender from the gum in his shirt pocket warmed by the heat of his body). 

"Thank you," Carlos says, setting down his glass. "That really did help. It must be all this desert dust."

"Must be," Josie says cheerfully.

Carlos checks his notes. ”So there’s a system of tunnels under Red Mesa?”

"So they say," Josie tells him with a wink, and rambles off into a story about nothing in particular as Carlos diligently records her and the angels dust the tops of the bookshelves.


End file.
